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Friday, March 23, 2012

We don't have lots of princesses. Our collection of baby dolls and things pink and girly is growing, albeit slowly. She plays with the same stuff he does. Bubbles and cars and chalk and puzzles and books. Cause he's her favorite. So she wants to do what he does. So I don't have one kid on one end of the house playing monster trucks and one putting a baby in a crib. Yet. I don't feel the huge boy/ girl divide. Yet.

But yesterday. I saw it manifest itself in a different way. It had nothing to do with cars or dolls. Pink or blue.

I picked her up out of her crib from her nap and she asked for the shoes in her closet. (Side note: Not her shoes. Her brothers shoes. Specifically orange crocs that she walks around in constantly. Not just the orange ones. Blue. Green. Doesn't matter. She wants to wear his shoes and only his shoes.) I said no. She smacked me. Not that unusual. She's figuring out that when she doesn't like something she can express that dislike through a simple smack. So, I smacked her back. Kidding. I took her hand and firmly said, 'no hitting.'. Period. No exclamation point. I did not scream it. I did not give her a nasty look. I just said no.

But I think she must have heard: listenlittlegirlifyousomuchaseventhinkabouthittingmeagainyouwillbeswimmingwiththefishies.

She immediately starts bawling. Real tears. Sobbing. The kind of crying you think might make them vomit. I hurt her feelings. I had to sit down and cuddle her (twist my arm) to get her to calm down.

Cannon would have barely reacted to that kind of discipline. And so for the first time, aside from anatomically, I see the difference in my kids.

Here's the thing baby girl. I get it. I don't like being told 'no' either. I'm certain it's made me cry way later in life than it ever should. A word of warning. You will also cry when you get your name written on the board in elementary school. When you get your first 'B' (this one you'll get over by high school). When one of us is disappointed in you. When you feel fat. The list goes on. I get why someone you care about disciplining you hurts your heart and makes you feel sad. I get it. Cause I'm the same way. And I would rather you care too much, than not care at all.

Because maybe, just maybe if you care too much, you won't come home sporting a tramp stamp, with a motorcycle riding boyfriend (who doesn't wear a helmet), and tell us you're dropping out of college to move to Vegas and be a showgirl. Just maybe.

Love her. Her passion. Her giant personality (rivaled only by that of her brother). And her tears.

Wednesday, March 14, 2012

It's not that I don't love you. I do. It's just that I get busy. And it's a good busy. But it's busy. And random blog post thoughts pop into my head and then quickly disappear. So here I am with a quick O and R. And really only writing it because I set out to run this morning and I am just too damn sore. Here goes nothing.

My kids are at awesome ages. C and his letters and numbers and curiosity is ah.mazing. He's fun and smart and learning and the temper tantrums seem to have slowed every so slightly. Cause you know, at 3 1/2 those things slow down. E is hilarious and has the biggest personality of any 16 month old I know. Her sleep habits are sporadic at best but I don't mind middle of the night cuddles. It's the screaming that I mind. How many teeth does one child need anyway?

The workouts. So for a solid six weeks I've been busting it. Boot camp two mornings a week, running the other days. Today is probably the third day in the last six weeks I haven't done SOMETHING. And it's 6:30 am so there's still time. It took all of five weeks to lose five freaking pounds and it also took that long for me to stop obsessing over the scale and looking in the mirror. Remember this post? I should read it more often. Because when I look in the mirror, things are good. Asses are higher, legs are crazy strong, arms are thinner, boobs are smaller (of course, stupid stupid thing that happens to women). I'm really pretty proud that I have gotten into shape and I have zero plans of stopping.

Speaking of being proud of myself. Photography. Rocking and rolling. A solid three to four sessions a weekend, sometimes more. I am in love. In love. And pinching myself that it actually happened. I set out to start a small business, make some money, do something I love, and have something that was just for me. And I've done it. And I'm proud. You can check out my Facebook page should you so desire.

It's summer here. A lovely 80 degrees during the day and 65 at night. Remind me of this in June when it's 100 already.

So. That's an update. Not a very exciting one. But it's' why I haven't been around these parts. Cause life is good.

Friday, March 2, 2012

Oh hey. Been missing. Wrote a boring post that I haven't posted yet. About turning another year older, yadda yadda yadda. And then this happened.

BTW, this is my 501st post. Should have celebrated on the last one.

Anyway.

Yesterday afternoon I packed up some buckets and shovels, the jogger, some towels and a blanket and headed to the beach. It was 82 and gorgeous and we were going to take advantage. And we did.

Played in the sand. In the water. Breathed deeply. It's good for the soul. Really good.

See? We had fun. My kids love it. I love it. We will never get tired of it.

You get the point. It was fun.

We have learned, the hard way, that you don't take snacks to the beach. The rats with wings seagulls are majorly aggressive. Like out of control. They will fly down and grab food OUT OF YOUR HAND. Not only does that scare the shit out of me but it's disgusting. And they call all of their friends as soon as they smell blood. So. We snack on the way to the beach and on the way home. Not at the beach. Yesterday was no different.

Then. People of Walmart showed up. Mullets. MAJOR mullets. A cooler the size of a small car. Everyone smoking two cigarettes at a time. Tattoos. Ugly ones. Green and yellow ones. Jorts. Sleeves were hard to come by too. They set up camp and immediately pulled out giant bags of chips and sandwiches. They didn't seem to mind the giant rats circling their heads waiting for the right moment to strike. Then they start feeding them. This is why the birds are aggressive. Because assholes feed them. So now there's like 30 seagulls pooping and cawing all over the damn place.

I'm taking some pictures of my kids. And I hear, 'y'all! I got one!' Yep. He did. Balding dude #1 in the grey tux grabbed a seagull out of the air and was holding it on his lap. Feeding it chips and petting it.

And so. I did what any other person would have done. Took a picture.

No. Make that two pictures. To the left of mullet man/woman (?) in the grey tux sans sleeves is the gull whisperer.

And he was surprised when he finally freed Willy the gull why it shit on him.

The end.

PS. If you click on the picture you can see the another member of the POW crew. It's worth it.
Happy weekend.